The eyes of the killer
by Correlation-X
Summary: Chapter 1 fully uploaded, Chapter 2 in 12-24 hours


-- In the eyes of the killer --   
  
Pokemon Fanfiction by Corr3lationX [ yamato@webmail.co.za ]   
2001  
  
A/N ** This is serious stuff ( I try to make it serious anyway ) and i don't think it   
** would apeal much to the younger audience. Anyway, I think if you liked Pmaster   
** by Ace Sanchez ( A must read ) then you would like this. Please R/R this fic  
**   
** I will not give credit to 4kids or Saban, or whatever other Corp. is   
** involed in Pokemon, however, I would like to thank Satoshi Taijiri for his creation   
** and all the animators, artist, storywriters, voiceactors, musicians and programmers   
** involved in the anime, manga and game.   
  
  
  
Chapter 1 : Nemesis  
  
It was a cold Autumn day. The seasonal breeze blew through the streets of Kyoto , past the Shogunate Stronghold, through barren tree branches down to the ground where it occasionally swept up a blanket of dead leaves, painting the empty streets with a pallet of red, orange and auburn. As it made it way through the streets it passed but a few people, those that were either unwise, not curled up infront of a fire in their dwelling, or those who did not have a dwelling with a fireplace to curl up in front of.   
But there was one who was not a resident in this once great city of which so little remains.He didn't quite fit anywhere in the puzzle. The breeze blew past him aswell, the cold lashing its fangs deep into him, gnawing at his soul. He did not care much, he had always liked the cold. The cold night. The purest incarnation of nothingness, that was essentially true, just and free of all human deficits ... purity.   
He pulled the cloak closer to his body anyway.   
  
He observed his surroundings. A young boy, sweeping up leaves in the front garden. A man, probably his farther, helping him in his chore. Another, a woman watering the small pot plant that stood infront of her house.   
  
He felt the hilt of the sword rubbing against his thigh.   
Softly he sighed to himself, and let his mind wander...   
  
  
*** Two days before  
  
From the shadows he watched him, his quarry.   
  
It was but a small room, devoid of any articles of furniture, except one of those swivel chairs, manufactured in the old days. The object of his imediate attention was spread out over the computer monitor, one he had built up of many parts that others could spare, yet that he could not live without. In the green monochrome color he studied this newly gatherred information. This would surely help the cuase, all future plans of the Shogunate at the rebelions disposal. Very handy indeed.   
  
The green hue from the monitor reflected of off his fiery red hair, making it appear to be brown in colour. He was a new kind of shinobi, one not trained in fighting skills, herbal medicine or killing techniques. These were all foreign to his mind. No, he was one of the new variety of spies. Self trained in the intracasies of most computer systems, cryptography, and stealth. Just like the ninja of old used their stealth techniques to avoid detection by Samurai's, to remain invisible of all those who they wished not to be seen by, he used his variety of stealth to avoid detection by the security deamons of the various computer systems he penetrated.   
  
  
"Nero, I presume..", he spoke as he began stepping out of the shadows.   
  
At once a chilling fear started traveling up his spine. Had he been traced ? Since when were they so quick to respond ? He reached for the pistol on the desk next to the computer monitor. He had been warned well of unexpected and unwanted visitors, and thus supplied himself with some heavy fire power for self protection. 9mm, Explosive bullet heads, just what the doctor orderred.   
  
"Or should I say , Tagara Matsu ? ", the voice spoke once more, this time acompanied by footsteps, resounding through the hard wooden floor and amplifying them to a volume that was quite desturbing to him.   
  
He regained his cool, and took a deep breath to calm down. If he was going to get out of this he was going to have to act quickly, and aim straight.   
"Hmpf ", he huffed , " You caught me. Tell me, who might you be ? " , He asked without a tone devoid of fright. Still, the footsteps came .   
  
"That is not important. ", the click of a sword being partially unsheathed echoed through the room. " You have caused much harm with you actions. Your nutralization is the only option, Tagara Matsu, tonight you die ... " ,The voice spoke again, empty of emotion.   
  
"Oh yeah , EAT THIS !!! ", Nero spun round in his chair and fired several rounds into the room were the voice originated. Rapid gunfire filled the room, acompanied by the dull sounding explosions of the lethal tips, and lit up the room in a flashing display for a few seconds, yet, he hit nothing but air and brick.   
  
"No, it can't, no ... ", he mumbled in frustration, pain, and shock. He tried to keep it together, but he couldn't. His muscles wouldn't respond, nor would his fingers twitch. He cried out in a blood curdling scream, his arm falling to the ground, in a newly formed crimson pool.   
  
He felt the cold, clean steel of the blade, sharp as razor against his throat. He could not pull away, and he struggled to form syllables above the excruciating pain.   
  
"Pl..ea..se, no... ", He tried, looking up into the face of his killer, into those brown eyes, empty of all emotion, and stopped speaking. He knew from those eyes, somewhat concealed behind black hair , that his pain would end soon. They told him so, and he did not want to hear it. He knew what it meant, and he was scared. The eyes of a killer never lies.   
  
"Sssh, Matsu, the pain will not last long... ",he spoke as he effortlessly pushed the blade into his throat, sliding it across, circumventing his neck, and cutting his aorta, with skill and grace. A small line of crimson formed around Matsu's neck, growing thicker and thicker,droplets trickling down his neck towards his chest.He removed the blade, and the flow of blood became more violent, a river of red pouring from the severed artery.  
  
He choked, gasped for air, and felt the pain. But he could not scream. The pain, it was so unbearable, so foreign. Did they lie ? Did the eyes decieve him ?   
No, it was not long till his pain ended. The river dried up, leaving only drying blood in it's wake, and Tagara Matsu's world became forever black, and the killers hands were stained once more.   
  
The eyes of a killer never lies.   
  
***  
  
He never really understood why many, in his proffesion, enjoyed the kill. Others despised it. Not him. He never really felt anything. Extinguishing a life was a natural process, and it had never awoken anything inside him. Perhaps he did not have a concience, so many of his peers had said so before.  
He sighed once more, thinking of another occasion. For a moment he took his hand out of his pocket to brush strands of brilliant black hair away from his eyes.  
What is a conscience ? How could he have one if he did not even know what it was ?   
Perhaps he did not have a soul, or maybe he had one of darkness. Either way he had never realy cared much for it all. Life held nothing for him, except killing. And if that was the only thing that he was destined to do, then he would be the finest killer that ever lived.   
  
Perhaps that is why they called him Nemesis.  
  
Since he could remmeber his life centerred around assassination. There had been an obundance of individuals, either working for the rebelion or on their own, who he had been orderred to terminate. Thats the way it had always been, and will always be, until that time that there were no more rebels, or until he himself was killed. His occupation demanded from him that he be indifferent to death, that he have no qualms about ending another human beings existance, and that he be ready to face death at any moment. From the time he first started his training at the Shi-Ryu, or Death-School, he had been the pick of the crop, the only one who could kill without feeling any emotion, neither sorrow, guilt, pain or joy. The only one who did not care if he lived, or died the next day. He was in total harmony with his profesion, and according to others in total disharmony with everything that living was all about. Some considdered his indifference an asset, most thought of it as any human beings downfall. He did not care.   
  
Through this total emotionless behaviour he was always succesfull. It was always a sure bet that he would return, having made a successfull kill, or not return at all. The target was always the focus, those surrounding or protecting him were not important and would only be imobilised so that he could do his duty without being interrupted. Many a assassin's downfall had been becuase of them wasting time with worthless pawns, and not striking at the king imediatly.   
  
He was a vehicle of vengeance, the reason for his code-name being that of the Greek   
demigod of revenge, Nemesis.  
  
Everyone called him that nowadays, those who ever spoke to him at least. He could vaguely remmeber being called something else in his earlier years, but those memories were but few and scattered. Most of them he recalled while sleeping, but they were still just like watching an old black-and-white movie through someone else's spectacles, blurred and distorted. 'Ash' sounded foreign to him. He never realy considerred himself an 'Ash', he had nothing to base it on, and no-one referred to him as 'Ash' anyway.   
  
He liked Nemesis better.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
+++ End +++   
of chapter 1  
  
Please R/R, or send mail to the above mentioned address. All comments would be appreciated.   
  
To [ EyeGuy ] :   
Pokemon will make their appearance soon enough, although they do not play   
a major part in this fic. 


End file.
